The Flipside
by chaotickatie
Summary: Hermione is sent to an alien world, much too remnant of her own, only to find that everyone she has ever deemed good is now the enemy. Not knowing who to trust, she finds refuge in the home of Tom Riddle; the leader of a dwindling rebellion against Dark Arts master, Albus Dumbledore, and develops both unexpected and reluctant alliances in a war that has already been won. HG/DM
1. Prologue: The Upside Down

**Summary:** Hermione is sent to an alien world, much too remnant of her own, only to find that everyone she has ever deemed good is now the enemy. Not knowing who to trust, she finds refuge in the home of Tom Riddle, the leader of a dwindling rebellion against Albus Dumbledore, a master of the Dark Arts, and develops both unexpected and reluctant alliances in a war that has already been won.

Note: Dark/mature themes, Alternative Universe, Light!Voldemort

 **Disclaimer:** All rights go to JK Rowling, I am not making any money from this story, nor am I claiming ownership of the Harry Potter Universe.

* * *

 **Prologue: The Upside Down**

The war ended with a bright light.

Voldemort had finally been defeated, his remains scattered in the whirlwind of smoke and rubble, and the cheers that had followed were deafening.

Harry stood in the courtyard, his hair matted with dirt and grime, and his forehead glistening with sweat. He staggered on his feet with relief, turning to face the onlooking students with a crooked grin.

Hermione surged through the crowd, her hair flying behind her in a banner, now free from its braid, and she crushed her weight against his, a sob breaking through the raucous sounds of victory behind them. He stumbled in surprise, and his hands reached around her shoulders to pull her closer, leaving no room for hesitation.

"He's dead." Harry mumbled against her neck and she felt him shiver at the weight of those words.

"He's dead," She repeated, and looked up a the sky, feeling something break in her chest. "And we're okay."

* * *

It had taken the rest of the day to tend to the wounded— _hundreds upon hundreds of them._ The bodies were stacked in heaps in the courtyard, and the corridors; spread till the horizon of her vision; hills upon hills of lifeless skin. Some of them she didn't know, and too many of them she did. She helped the mediwitch clean wounds, and sets bones, and it wasn't until Luna came over with a cup of tea, that she stopped to take a breath.

She worked until the blood of her patients turned dry, and the sharp smell of rotting flesh became familiar, and only after the dust had finally settled, Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked down towards the bridge.

They stared at the setting sun, the taste of death still thick on their tongues, and Hermione felt the gentle brush of Harry's hand against her own; a remembrance for survival, and a tether to reality.

They stayed like that until the sky bled a faint pink, and Ron kicked a spare piece of castle debris into the ground below.

"I reckon we'll finally be able to get a normal year now." He joked and glanced at his best friends to soak in their reaction.

The tense moment that passed was palpable and Ron began to shrink into himself with a grimace until Hermione burst with laughter; so loud and carefree that she felt as if she were watching herself from afar. Harry and Ron shared a look of confusion until they joined her, their faces lighting up with easy smiles, as if it were just another day at Hogsmeade on a Christmas morning instead of the beginning of the end of a war. Hermione beamed at them both, and their laughter faded into comfortable silence.

Harry's hand twitched in her own after a moment, and her eyes flicked down to see him holding the Elder wand.

"Harry?" She asked, her eyes searching his own. "What is it?"

"The wand," He said, his gaze meetings hers. "We throw it away. We throw it away and hope no one finds it."

Ron shot him a quizzical look of mild alarm, and stepped forward in disagreement. "Harry, _no._ That wand probably holds more power than the entire force of the _Wizengamot._ You could practically do _anything_ with it."

 _"_ _Exactly,"_ Harry shot back impatiently. "That's why we need to destroy it. We can't risk another war. Not after Grindelwald, and not after Voldemort because another one _will_ happen if we don't take the necessary precautions."

 _"_ _Precautions?"_ Ron asked. "Mate, the war _just ended,_ why would there be another—"

"Harry's right." Hermione intervened. "We have to destroy it."

Ron looked at Hermione, then back at Harry, and held up his hands in defeat. "Okay," He said after a slight pause. "If you're sure."

Harry nodded, and let go of her hand, bringing the wand level to his chest.

 _"_ _Wait!"_ Hermione exclaimed compulsively, moving forwards to grab his wrist. He stared at her in surprise, and a hush blanketed the world around them. She loosened her hold with realization and swallowed the dryness of her throat. "I want to."

The seconds bled to minutes, and coldness seeped into the warm flush of her cheeks.

"What?" He asked, belatedly.

"The wand. I want to break it."

Confusion etched itself onto his face and he raised an eyebrow, goading an explanation from her.

"Closure." _I want to feel the magic fade out of whatever's left of_ ** _his_** _soul._

The explanation was enough for Harry, and he surrendered the wand, placing it in the palm of her hand.

Light surrounded her, blinding and unbridled in its rage; cold despite its alluring colour; bleeding into her brittle bones.

And she screamed.

 ** _"_** ** _Hermione!"_**


	2. One: The Reflection

**Summary:** Hermione is sent to an alien world, much too remnant of her own, only to find that everyone she has ever deemed good is now the enemy. Not knowing who to trust, she finds refuge in the home of Tom Riddle, the leader of a dwindling rebellion against Albus Dumbledore, a master of the Dark Arts, and develops both unexpected and reluctant alliances in a war that has already been won.

Note: Dark/mature themes, Alternative Universe, Light!Voldemort

 **Disclaimer:** All rights go to JK Rowling, I am not making money from this story, nor am I claiming ownership over the Harry Potter Universe.

* * *

 **Chapter One: The Reflection**

She woke up to silence.

The stone ground of the bridge felt cold and unblemished against her cheek, and much too pristine to have been one of the many casualties of the battle. Her clothes felt soft, and warm against her tender skin, and her hair didn't carry its usual weight against the nape of her neck. Even the air somehow felt cleaner; crisp, and sharp, and heavy, as it pressed up against her lungs in a suffocating clutch.

She slowly cracked her eyes open and took a steadying breath, scanning the terrain around her. A startled gasp left her mouth in a flurry of confusion at what she saw.

Instead of the ruinous remains of the war's aftermath, the building she had begun to think of as home loomed over her head with its arched windows with a smooth, polished surface intact. Something akin to a strike hit her deep within her ribs, and it stole her breath away like a robber in the night.

This wasn't the world she had left behind.

A million thoughts raced through her head, each one more extravagant and complicated then the next, and she patted the ground wildly, in search for her wand.

She exhaled a soft whimper, when her hands felt the familiar pattern of her wand—intricate vines curling around and around and around and—

 _"_ _Lumos."_ She whispered frantically.

In her hand, wasn't her own wand, but Albus Dumbledore's.

 _Shit._

 _"_ _Harry?"_ She called out in the dark. _"Ron?"_

Her voice only managed to carry through the air around her, travelling no further, as if it were suspended in time and space.

"Oh _no._ No, no, no, no, _no."_ She stood hastily on her feet, circling the spot around her in panic, and she squinted in the harsh contrast of the Elder wand's light and the darkened sky. Blood rushed to her head, making her woozy, and she swayed, too nauseous to process anything properly.

 _Think, Hermione._ She thought to herself, trying to say calm.

It couldn't have been a time turner, she was sure of it; hers had been confiscated after the Buckbeak incident—much to her dismay— and all others had been shattered in the Ministry mess. Was a curse responsible? She struck that one down as well, unable to remember any spells that had hit her—foreign or known—that could have caused this in the past 24 hours. Neither potions and artifacts seemed plausible possibilities either unless—

 _Unless._

 ** _The Elder Wand._**

 _Of course._ It had been the last corporeal thing she had touched—the fire-like flames that had spread over her body inside and out, had finally subsided, leaving no marks, yet the pain had remained. An icy burn that left her feeling bruised in areas that couldn't possibly be.

She remembered the strange rush of power that had come with the bright light, and the horror that had painted Harry's face.

Pushing those thoughts away, she pocketed the wand in her velvet jacket—one that she had never seen before—and set off towards the castle, in search of her friends.

She wasn't sure what had transpired between her and the wand, but she needed answers, so she pushed down the ever creeping feeling of impending fear that came hand in hand with the absence of the boy who had become as close a brother.

She reasoned internally that there was probably a completely obvious accident or explanation to go with her situation, and it would all be sorted out in a millisecond. She refused to let the pressing gloom of the castle bring down her small glimmer of hope.

Reaching what seemed to be the courtyard—minus the bodies and blood splattered cobblestones—she pushed open the entrance doors and frowned at the loss of its century-old creak.

 _Curiouser and curiouser,_ she would have thought, if she felt little about her predicament, but all she could imagine were the countless events that she might have missed if she had, in fact, skipped through time and landed in a post-war Hogwarts. She so dearly hoped that somehow, Voldemort had not risen again and ruled the wizarding community.

Her shoes, heeled and shiny, even in the dark, clicked loudly on the floors of the well sorted Great Hall, and from time to time, the flickering torches would able her to see any differences from her own version of Hogwarts.

And there it was.

Instead of the usual school flag that draped from the high ceilings, the Order's symbol of the phoenix was displayed with its large wings outstretched, and a motto was scrawled under its vicious claws.

 _Et per solidarietatem unum._

Unity through solidarity.

Hermione clenched her draw, and prayed that this was a motto of peace, and continued towards the Gryffindor common room, fully knowing that no one would be there.

The castle was empty; abandoned both in the literal and emotional sense. The oxygen that pumped through her body inside of the castle felt much, much darker and devoid of hope. She shuddered, feeling a cold breeze waft around her and she folded her arms over her chest, huddling closer into the soft fabric of her jacket.

She finally reached the common room after careful navigation of what seemed to be a renovated school, and she stood in front of the Fat Lady's portrait, who was snoring rather loudly. She looked quite unladylike, although she was dressed in an expensive dress, different from what she normally looked like in her original world.

"Hello?"

The Fat Lady startled awake, and appraised her with a look of distain, until it quickly turned into one of fear.

Hermione stared quizzically at her behaviour and was about to ask for the password when the door swung open, allowing her to enter without another word spoken from either person.

She mumbled a quiet thank you, and gingerly stepped into the common room, trying to let its usual warmth sink into her sink, and calm her.

The attempt was short lived however, and the empty cold remained rooted in her body. Hermione swallowed back another wave of worry and shook her head with force.

The room itself was still adorned with its house colours of red and gold, and the fireplace roared and crackled like it did every night, yet the mantelpiece, and staircase, and all else that her eyes could see looked as if they were _actually_ made from gold and embedded with jewels. She walked further into the centre of the room and grabbed a copy of the Daily Prophet, skimming through the words to find the date.

 _May 2nd, 1999._

So she _had_ skipped through time.

A year into the future had passed in the blink of an eye, and Hermione wasn't sure whether she was relieved or even more anxious. She set the article back down next to a set of Wizard's chess, and she scrambled to the door, wrenching it open with her other hand fisted against her chest.

If a year had passed, that would mean that Harry and Ron had graduated. She desperately tried to think of any place that they might be, when the voice she most wanted to hear spoke behind her.

"What are _you_ doing here, Granger?" Harry said accusingly.

She slowly turned around, and her eyes widened at the boy in front of her. He looked so much like Harry, though his hair was neatly trimmed, and the cuffs of his shirt gleamed silver and most surprising of all—

His forehead was missing a scar.

This was most definitely _not_ the Harry Potter she was looking for.

* * *

 **A/N: So there's the second chapter! Thank you to all of you who reviewed, followed or favourited this story, it really means a lot :) I'd also like to note that this story _is_ Dramione as its central pairing, and although Harry is a recurring character right now, it's because his relationship with Hermione is extremely important. Even though Draco will be her main interest, this story is quite plot based as well so I hope non-Dramione shippers will stick around as well? Please review if you liked it and if you didn't...oh well. **


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